Fallen Angel Read Online Free

empty glass slipped from his fingers. It fell with a soft thud to the threadbare carpet.
    Maddie rose to her feet and came to stand over him. "I don't wish to be married," she said forcefully.
    "You don't understand," he mumbled under his breath. "You have no choice in the matter. I've done the best I can, under the circumstances."
    "Papa, what are you talking about? What circumstances?" Fear constricted her throat.
    He made no answer, and she touched him gently on the shoulder. "Is it Cynthia? Has something happened? Tell me Papa!"
    Her words must have penetrated because his eyes opened slowly, but he stared past her. "Cynthia?" he asked stupidly, and then he laughed, and the sound of it tore at Maddie's heart. "Deceitful bitch! You're a fool. Deveryn won't have you! Not even when you're free of me. To him, you're just a warm willing body. But I've told you all this before. Go to your lover, then! See if I care."
    Maddie hardly knew what to say. Though she was shocked, she could not admit to any real surprise. On the few occasions she had been in the company of both her father and her stepmother, she had observed an utter want of consideration and affection in Cynthia Sinclair for the husband who was so patently enamoured of his young wife. And on one occasion, she had opened a closed door to hear her father's voice raised in anger. She had shut the door stealthily, but not before she had hear the word slut. At fifteen, the word had meant nothing to her.
    One hand went out and she smoothed back the tangle of curls at his temple. His dark hair was shot with silver, and lines of dissipation were carved into his once handsome face. She felt a sudden overwhelming pity, but could not determine whether it was for herself, or for her father, or for a world which had lost its innocence.
    At that moment, he seemed to her to be a broken man. "Papa! Oh Papa! I'm so sorry."
    He had difficulty focusing on her. "He's taken everything from me." The words were spoken so softly, she could hardly hear them.
    "Who Papa? Who has taken everything?"
    "Your grandfather . . . Deveryn . . . damn them to hell." He reached for her hand. "Maddie! Maddie! Say you forgive me!"
    "Of course," she answered soothingly, and tears welled in her eyes.
    "I don't deserve your tears. Save them for yourself. Send Duncan to me, and kiss me . . . one last time."
    She brushed his brow with her lips. It was pointless to linger. With a last anxious look at the inert form on the bed, she went in search of Duncan.
    The following morning, at dawn, before the house stirred, Donald Sinclair was wakened by Duncan and he went for a solitary swim in the arctic waters of the Forth. He never returned. His clothes, neatly folded, with his boots on top to weigh them down, were found among the sand dunes.
    At the coroner's inquest, Drumoak's housekeeper, Miss Janet Ross, testified that in days gone by, the master and other young bucks of the area had been used to disport themselves in such manner on Christmas Day for a lark, but that the tradition had gradually died out with the advent of a younger, more circumspect generation. It was presumed that it was an attack of nostalgia that had cost Donald Sinclair his life. A full sennight was to pass before the tides washed up the body, far from Drumoak. The coroner, as expected, brought in a verdict of accidental death.
    Word of the tragedy was sent posthaste to the widow in London, who immediately set off for Drumoak. It was remarked that Miss Madeleina Sinclair, throughout the ordeal, conducted herself with laudatory fortitude.
    But inwardly, Maddie seethed. How different now was the interpretation she placed on every inflection, every expression, every careless word of her father on that last unhappy night which was indelibly impressed on her mind. She kept her own counsel, however, and concealed her pain behind a frozen impassive countenance. Not for the world would she reveal her suspicion that Donald Sinclair had taken his own